


Your Heart Is a Muscle the Size of a Fist

by roseauxx



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Eren Yeager, Dominant Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Eventual Fluff, Everyone Needs A Hug, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Bar, Gay Sex, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) is Bad At Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, Period-Typical Homophobia, Police Brutality, Protests, Road Trips, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Slow Burn, Smut, Submissive Eren Yeager, Top Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseauxx/pseuds/roseauxx
Summary: For two boys in 1968, a chance meeting in gay conversion therapy may act as the catalyst towards a world of self-discovery, acceptance and possibly, even more.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Erwin Smith, Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 39
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

Eren clutched the bottle of Everclear Grain in his right fist, head lolled to the side, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watched his friends (and a few other classmates who he wasn't all that familiar with), mirth dancing in his glossed-over eyes like candlelight. His head was slightly fuzzy from the alcohol. He didn't drink often. 

Snickering when Connie lost his balance and fell, unceremoniously, from the top of a rusted slide (typical jokester), he nudged the asphalt with the toe of his trainer, swaying gently on the swing set, left hand hanging onto the chain attached to the seat. His eyelids fluttered closed and he inhaled, taking in the scent of the damp grass, of the trees, of the stars.

“Somethin’ funny?” a voice called, dripping sarcasm and kiwi lip balm.

Eren raised his head, playful grin splitting the swell of his cheeks, “No, not at all!”

“Hmm!”

He brought the bottle up to his lips, taking a generous swig and grimacing as the amber liquid licked at his insides like fire. He definitely didn't drink often. And for good reason; intoxication clouded peoples’ judgement, made them act in utterly foolish ways. Eren should know, he was friends with some interesting characters, to put it ever-so-lightly. They called him a moralist, he called them roguish. Tit for tat.

But this, this was rather rare. Not often would Eren engage in their-as he had dubbed them-unsavoury pastimes-not because he actively disliked having fun (although that was what his friends often lamented), but because he wasn’t too keen on busy, social gatherings, per se; he would much rather curl up with a good book and found nothing wrong with that fact. But, finally, he caved. Sasha (a plucky brunette he had known since childhood) put it down to her incessant badgering. Eren made sure to remind her that he was still very much opposed to the idea, and that she had nothing to do with his change of mind. Made sure to remind her that he would still ignore her barrage with the fortitude he had exercised for years prior to the situation he found himself in currently. Couldn't have her thinking too highly of herself. They had all laughed. 

Sasha assured him that he’d have “barrels of fun” and “would feel right as rain” if he just got out and had some fun like any other teenage boy his age.

Eren wished Sasha was correct.

He wished that he was sitting there, slightly (maybe a lil’ more than slightly) inebriated of his own desire to enjoy a night out with his friends, desire to have fun, let loose, enjoy himself. Like every other teenage boy.

_Like every other teenage boy._

He gritted his teeth, rested his forearms on his spread knees and let his head fall into his palms. Every time he thought about… thought about- about _that_ , he could almost feel the bile rising in his throat, feel the guilt festering in the pit of his stomach. He felt dirty. Felt as though he didn't deserve to be where he was right now, wasn't worthy of the affection those close to him granted. Almost like he was stealing something that he was not entitled to. Whether it be Mikasa’s doting tendencies, his friend Jonnothan’s helpful nature, or even Connie’s frequent teasing, for he seemed to have taken it upon himself to insist that Eren was smitten with any girl he happened to so much as glance at. Eren would always deny Connie’s offers to “hook him up with a hot babe” (which Eren thought was an ever so crude way to put it), which wasn’t exactly normal. It wasn’t normal that he was so unwilling to take a girlfriend. He should’ve been ever so attracted to the girls around him.

Because that was what he had always been told, was what he was taught since he knew nothing but his mother’s warm smile and soft hands. It had been drilled into his head since preadolescence, since before he even knew what the differences between boys and girls were. The notion had been reinforced his whole life, whether from handsy aunts around the dinner table every other year (he would always dread their gatherings, despite his father’s perpetual mantra of “blood is thicker than water”) or from their pastors devout preaching every Sunday morning. But no matter who it came from, the point was always simple, proper and foundational. Boys should like girls. That was what was expected, what was customary.

If only he was like every other teenage boy.

Maybe then he could reciprocate Sasha’s bashful gazes and cherry-dusted cheeks. He’d noticed her adoration, was perplexed by it, almost. But sincerely tried to return it. She was a beautiful girl: kind, empathetic, humorous and maybe a tad overzealous. Eren was flattered by her ardour. She really was a beautiful _girl_. And that was the problem, in every sense of the word.

He knocked back the last of the bottle and let his gaze shift from the aforementioned to scan the small gathering of students, most of whom were talking, laughing, dancing and kissing. He searched the crowd until he found who he was looking for, found the side profile of one he was all too familiar with. Aaron Sharpe.

Eren had admired him for years, either from his bedroom window when the blond and his bevvy of friends would kick a ball around their street (something about watching the perspiration on his brow bead made the young boy’s stomach turn), or from across the table in their biweekly Bible study sessions (both the Yeagers and Sharpes were devout Christians). He was the perfect role model, the perfect student, the perfect son, the perfect friend. And he was gorgeous.

Gorgeous, utterly perfect Aaron Sharpe with his stupidly handsome smile, those deep brown eyes, that freckle-dusted skin. The boy had the facial structure of a goddamn Greek God despite being Eren’s elder of a measly one year. He was tall, he was kind, he was charming and he was also incredibly popular with the ladies (which was something that Connie had often found time to complain about). Oh, wow, Aaron Sharpe and his buttermilk hair that Eren wanted to run his fingers through, the shoulders he wanted to grasp, those mango-slicked lips that he wanted to-

_Dear God, what was he thinking?_

Hurrying to advert his heavy gaze, he gulped, mouth dry. The mounting alcohol-induced stupor he found himself in slowed his reaction times a touch, and he cursed himself for being so careless upon noticing said boy looking right back at him, albeit rather benevolently or even… curiously?

Pursing his lips, Eren’s eyes flitted to the ground below Aaron’s trainers (of course they looked brand new, neat and devoid of mud) only to notice them turning towards him. 

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God._

It wasn't written on his face, was it? He wasn't being that obvious, right? God, was he being obvious all along? Did everyone know? Did they just keep him around for shits and giggles? Did they all think he was sick? What if-

“Eren, right?” 

His head shot up, pupils blown wide and jaw locked shut. He wasn't going to hit him, was he? Eren had heard about that happening a lot to... to people like him.

“Uh… I am right? Aren't I?”

He paused, the question registering in his mind.

“E-Eren yes, Eren. Well, I mean that's me, Eren. Yeah, I’m Eren,” Dear God, curse him and his clumsy mouth. Making an ass out of himself.

The tall boy grinned down at him, the corners of his eyes creasing and head tilting slightly. He motioned towards the swing next to Eren.

“May I?”

“Um, yeah, ‘course.”

He sat, body facing towards the flustered brunette, casually gripping onto the swing’s chain. His forearm graze Eren’s own.

“I’m Aaron, pretty sure I know you from church. Never seen you outside of school much, not used to this sort of thing?” why was he looking at him so… strangely? It made Eren feel odd. He could feel his stomach twisting.

“This being… drinking in a park?”

“Sure,” he beamed.

“Not really, I guess. I’m not that good with big crowds,” he said, trying to sound absent-minded before clearing his throat. After getting over his initial shock, (there was still an uneasy sort of feeling in his stomach) he found settling into a conversation to be quite easy. There was something calming bout Aaron's presence.

“That’s adorable.”

Scratch that, settling into a conversation was most definitely not easy, “Huh? Wha-?”

Aaron let his temple rest against his wrist, grinning over at Eren “Calm down, you’re getting all flustered.”

Eren nodded quickly, sharp intake of breath doing little to calm his racing heartbeat.

The blond threw his head back with a groan after a slight moment of silence. Albeit an impregnated silence, but silence, “Damn, I’m beat. Aren’t you? Wanna ditch? I can take you home, my car’s just past that memorial over there,” he lifted his head with a blithe grin. Eren didn’t know what to make of him, or this situation, for that matter. But something about the lilt in his voice compelled him to accept the offer. The cadence in his diction seemed to hold a silent promise. Or maybe that was just the alcohol thinking for him, playing tricks on his mind.

Screw it.

“Sure.”

“Great,” Aaron sprung to his feet, wiping his palms on his trousers.

Eren echoed his movements, pausing briefly to glance at the crooked arm being offered to him. He looked up at the elder's face, silent questions written across his own.

“You seemed a tad unsteady. I do recall you saying that you don’t drink often.”

Oh yeah, there was definitely an ulterior motive to this. Every fibre in his body that would’ve been screaming at him to not follow through was lulled by the effects of the drink he had finished in a haste just moments prior and his heart did a little nervous flutter when the palm of his hand wrapped around Aaron's elbow. It felt foreign, foreign to touch a man in such a manner, it felt scandalous, wrong, but oh so right.

They had barely got out of the fence surrounding the park before someone called his name.

“Eren?” it was Sasha. Her brown ponytail was escaping its tie and she tucked a few strands of loose hair behind her ear as she hurried over to them, giving Aaron a shy nod, “Leaving so soon?” she asked, slightly out of breath, eyes shining with the excitement of the night, with the sound of the stars.

Her gaze dropped and eyebrows scrunched; she seemed confused. Only after a moment of thought did Eren realise why. Their arms were still linked. He was still holding onto Aaron’s elbow. Oh, he must’ve looked ever so feminine!

His hand dropped to his side, suddenly feeling rather conscious of his stance. Was he standing like a woman? His Grandfather had always told him that he had an “effeminate air about him”.

But before he could try to explain himself, (did he even need to? Sasha didn’t suspect anything, right?) a strong arm was slung over his shoulders. He tensed.

“Eren here’s had a tad too much to drink. Poor thing can hardly stand straight. I was just taking him home. We live close.” 

Sasha’s eyes widened in understanding and she breathed out an “Ahh”, nodding slowly.

“O-oh, right. So sorry for intruding! Make sure he’s safe for me, okay?” her lips spread slightly in a little smile as she took a small step back.

Aaron nodded, kindly and Eren looked up at him. My, he was ever so charming. Curse him.

The petite girl paused, seemingly steeling herself for something. Just as Eren was about to ask if she was okay, a pair of soft lips connected with his cold cheek and, before Eren could even think to react, she turned back around, neck stiff, hurrying towards Connie, who had been watching the interaction with a smirk. He whistled, pumping his fist, bringing both hands up to clap before Sasha hissed something at him as she grabbed his wrists and pulled them down. Curse him, too. The arm around Eren’s shoulder tugged and he stumbled, not expecting the sudden movement, too preoccupied with his friends antics. His right hand raised to brace himself and his face erupted in flames upon connecting with the chest of the boy who had done nothing but surprise him in the past few minutes. It felt firm, strong. Felt like what a man’s chest should feel like.

“Suh-sorry,” he gasped out, straightening himself and half-heartedly trying to wriggle out from under Aaron’s arm, which only tightened further. 

And he remained like that until Aaron had led him past the small, waning crowds of their fellow classmates, past the graveyard bracketing the fenced-off park and past the aforementioned war monument to a red car that Eren vaguely recognised from the magazines strewn over his sister's desk.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she,” the blond slipped his arm away from Eren’s shoulders, reaching into his pocket for his keys. Eren didn't like the fact that he missed the other’s touch, that he wanted his arm across his shoulder so bad that he almost ached.

Instead of voicing his sudden, unwanted realisation, he hummed in agreement. He’d never been much of a car person himself, but he had to agree, it did look rather modern.

Upon brief inspection, he noted that the interior was nice as well, after the door had been opened for him.

“So, you live just up the road from mine, right?” Aaron asked, not reaching for his seatbelt despite the fact that he had closed his door. 

There was something about the way Aaron’s hand looked, wrapped around the steering wheel, that made his stomach erupt with butterflies.

“Uh… yeah,” had Aaron also been taking note of him? Surely not.

A hum was all he got in reply. He couldn't help but notice how absent the response sounded, almost like Aaron was thinking about something other than their current conversation.

A pause.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are.”

Eren baulked, movements faltering, spinning his body back around, letting the seatbelt snap back into place. His mouth opened but he couldn’t think of any words to offer up as an adequate response to this highly inappropriate situation.

“Because I think they’re gorgeous.” they watched each other, neither moving for a moment.

Finally, Aaron leaned over the divide between their seats and paused briefly (maybe to gauge Eren’s reaction?). After receiving no overtly negative response, he let his index and middle finger curl under the younger's chin and smiled gently, tilting Eren’s head upwards.

His breath caught in his throat. Heart skipping a beat as his own judgement remained clouded by pure shock and want. Both his biggest fear and dream were occurring at the same instance, in the front seat of Aaron Sharpe’s car, no less.

Letting his eyes flutter shut, he tilted his head, slightly. Fingers skittering over his lap as he waited for the feeling of lips against his own.

And when it came, it felt oh so wonderful.

Dexterous hands held his own, bringing them to rest on firm shoulders. He twisted the red fabric of Aaron's shirt between his fingers in an attempt to ground himself as he felt his head spin, as the galaxies he’d repressed for so goddamn long practically glowed under his skin. Soft lips shifted against his own, guiding Eren through his (now painfully obvious) inexperience, and, with every passing second, Eren could feel his cheeks burning brighter, eyelashes trembling, could feel himself growing less and less present.

Only when he felt Aaron’s tongue glossing over his lips and fingers stroking rather close to his zipper did he push lightly against his chest. The shame and fear that had been held off thanks to the alcohol and adrenaline had gradually begun to creep up on him, pulling at the hair on his nape and buzzing in his ears.

Aaron obliged, pulling away, a light flush dusting his own cheeks. He was slightly short of breath. There must've been something in Eren's expression that prompted his next question.

“Wanna go home?” his voice was gentle.

“Please,” Eren breathed out, letting his head loll against the car window, his slow exhales clouding the cold glass.

The low hum of the engine starting up settled itself beneath Eren’s rib cage and between his teeth, the purring noise filling his oversensitive head. His hands curled into fists upon his lap as the car started to back out of the small alleyway it was parked in.

They drove in silence, each understanding the others inner turmoil, having experienced it many times before, although maybe not to this extent, in Eren’s case at least. Looking out the window, the jittery brunette watched the familiar shop fronts and houses blur past his eyes; everything seemed fogged, almost muted. How odd.

He must've zoned out, because the next thing he noticed was his front door and a soft tap against his upper arm. Why didn't they just park at Aaron’s house? Eren only lived up the road. He could have walked.

“You’re home.” the boy offered up a small smile.

A body reached over his own to open the door, he tensed, only relaxing again when Aaron returned to his seat. The leather he sat upon suddenly felt too hot, the stars too bright, his own heartbeat too loud.

Nodding absently, he stepped out. Why did the floor seem so far away? Did his eyes always feel this fuzzy?

“Hey, Eren?” he turned, “See you later?”

Blinking slowly, he hummed in agreement when he registered the question. They both knew that it was a lie, both knew that the events of tonight would be just a day in August that they would try to forget. Aaron looked at him, mouth opening, a question on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it, cleared his throat and pulled the door shut with a soft _click._

As he watched the car pull away, he could feel his throat tighten. His chest ached and his gasps of breath soon became the only sound he could hear as the soft rumble of Aaron's car grew quieter along with the buzz of the streetlights, which cast a too-bright, yellow haze across the ground.

_Oh God, what did he just do? Why did he do that? He was going to go to hell he was going to-_

A strangled sound escaped his constricted throat as he made a conscious effort to lift his heavy legs, stumbling towards his door. Why was it so far away? Why was everything so far away? He _was_ outside his house, right?

With trembling fingers, he fumbled for the door handle, silently thanking whoever left it unlocked. Looking into the glass panel in the door, he felt himself grow disgusted with his own reflection. With his hands that had held another man's, with his lips that had-

The door swung open. Eren’s sister, Mikasa, stood there, eyes blown wide with shock upon noticing the state her brother was in.

“Mum!” she grabbed Eren by his wrists, pulling him inside as she craned her head over her shoulder to call for help, voice shaking slightly.

What was wrong with Mikasa? Why did she sound so scared? Mikasa was never scared.

The black-haired girl’s mouth moved, hands gripping Eren’s upper arms. Was she speaking to him? Why couldn't he hear her? His knees felt weak and he stumbled forwards, a second pair of hands reaching out to hold him. His mum. His mum with her kind eyes, soft kisses and comforting words.

Only when his knees met the floor did he realise that his face was wet with tears and his chest was burning. Mouth gaped open, sobs escaped his lips as he fisted the fabric over his left breast, willing his heart to stop hurting, to stop growing and growing and growing. It was going to swallow him whole, was going to rip his paper skin apart. He felt compelled to pluck the stars from his own eyes and look back at his reflection in shame; his body was too weak, too frail to hold him, bones turning concave. 

He let a raucous cry be ripped from his throat. Ink-tipped thorns pierced his scorched guts and encased his tongue as the insides of his gums began to rot. His fingertips flew to his face, burying themselves in his hair and pulling, desperately. 

“Eren! Eren, darling! Whatever's the matter? Sweetness, hey, listen to me,” gentle hands grasped his wrists, pulling them into a lap, holding them against a plush skirt.

The boy’s eyes slipped to his mother's face, distressed and searching.

“Muh-mum,” he keened, letting his head fall into the junction of her neck, stiffening as a firm hand clasped his right shoulder, since when had his father been there? He hadn’t even noticed his arrival, could’ve sworn he was working late, as he usually did. 

The three of them waited for an explanation with bated breath.

“I-I’ve muh-made a mistake.”


	2. Chapter 2

Eren had anticipated shouting, had anticipated insults, disappointment and a barrage of fury-induced vociferation when he explained (to the best of his abilities, head still reeling) why he was in such a state. He felt he deserved what was inevitably coming to him. Because he had gone against everything he’d ever been taught, had broken the one rule he’d stood by since he first thought about what a boy’s hand would feel like against his own. All in the space of one night, in the space of a few minutes, sitting on sweltering-hot leather seats in the front of a scarlet Chevrolet Camaro; he’d messed up, he had _sinned._ Squaring his shoulders, he awaited the ramifications, expected them.

What he didn’t expect, however, was silence.

Hands tightening in his mother’s skirt (should he even be touching her?), the hitched breaths escaping his mouth were the only sounds punctuating the air as he tried to ground himself, tried to stop the bile rising in his throat. Finally, someone spoke, “Oh, Eren,” it was Mikasa, voice delicate and breathy. She sounded disappointed, disbelieving. Eren didn't-couldn't-blame her. 

“Mikasa, step back,” this time, the voice belonged to Grisha. And, oh God, he didn't sound happy. His tone was taut and clipped, the grip on Eren’s shoulder tightened, soon becoming painful, “Head upstairs, ‘Kas. To your room.”

“But-”

“Mikasa.”

An indignant intake of breath could be heard, but it was followed by the soft pattering of feet against carpet. Suddenly, Eren felt very alone, scared, even. His sister was his best friend, his other half, and for even her to not be compelled to stay with him, to comfort him, hurt. _God, it hurt_. Raising his head with the intention of meeting his father's eyes, he faltered upon seeing his mother’s; they were wide with perturbation and swimming in tears. She was crying, she was crying because of Eren. _Because of Eren, all because of Eren_. Feeling her warm hands slipping out of his own to clasp over her mouth in horror was the last straw. 

"Muh-mum, please," his voice was pitched and he reached out with trembling hands, only to be pulled back by Grisha (one hand now threaded through his hair). He stumbled momentarily, wincing as his palms connected with the ground in an effort to prevent himself from falling back completely, "Up, boy. Get in the kitchen," a strong tug punctuated his words and he staggered to his feet, throwing an arm out to brace himself against the wall, head pounding. Harsh fingers dug into the small of his back and nudged (or rather, shoved) him towards the aforementioned room. The door was ajar and a warm, orange glow was spilling out, casting a slanted, rectangular shape onto the carpet and wall opposite. It seemed too bright to Eren's eyes, too harsh, only seemed to push him further into his (now not so) light stupor.

Eren strained his neck to watch his mother for as long as he could. She knelt, arms crossed over her stomach, shoulders shaking; Eren stared, breathless and penitent until Grisha pushed him through the doorway and he lost sight of her. After the door had closed, Eren stiffened, shoulders hunched and neck bared. He didn't turn around to face him, he couldn't.

"Eren," _oh, God. He was gonna be sick, he was gonna-_ "I want to know what the hell you were thinking." Grisha hissed, barely-concealed venom lacing his words. He had never sounded so threatening, so unequivocally enraged. 

What _was_ he thinking? He didn't know. Taking a few steps forwards, he leant his palms and abdomen against the kitchen counter, "I- I wasn't. I wuh-wasn't thinking. It was a mistake. I won't-" he stumbled over his words in a feverish haste to defend himself. Although, he didn’t even know how he could, didn’t know if he should. He had kissed a boy, had given in to his perverse fantasies, there was no doubt about that. 

"Turn around," Grisha's voice was growing in volume, along with his anger, "Like a man, Eren."

He complied, the small of his back now against the counter, "Dad- please-"

"Please what, Eren. What do you want me to say? That I'm okay with having a fag for a son?" every word hurt, but Eren knew he was right. What _did_ he want him to say?

"I'm suh- sorry, please," he was begging for the sake of it now. He didn't know what to do, to say. He knew that he was in the wrong, that he had sinned. There was nothing he could say.

"We didn't raise you like this, we didn't raise you to be a- a fag!" he was shouting now, eyebrows furrowed and the lines around his mouth deepening. It was almost jarring; his dad never let his anger get the best of him, never raised his voice, always said the people who did so we're ruffians, were animalistic.

"I- I know, I’m so sorry, I-l'll never- never-"

"We are good people" he hissed, "we have raised you right. I've paid for the clothes on your back and the food on your plate- why would you choose this path? Just to spite me? After everything we've done for you, this is how you repay us?" Eren's head was spinning now, his fingertips growing numb as his mouth gaped, unable to form any words that would be any semblance of an intelligible sentence.

"Pray," the word sliced through the air (much like Grisha's darkening eyes) and Eren bit his lip in slight confusion, "Are you deaf? I said pray, Goddamn it!" spittle flew from his father's lips, pupils blown wide as he gestured towards the floor. 

Eren complied, knees kissing the tiles as he brought his hands up to clutch over his chest, garbling prayers that he could remember from Church. He felt confused, so, so confused. The buzzing of the synthetic bulb hanging above the sink was too loud, the oven light too bright, the cleaning product used to wash the dishes attacked his senses, made his nose burn. Vision marred by tears, he traced the lines on the floor with his eyes, trying, desperately, to ground himself, to drag his mind back down to Earth. His lungs, scarred by nettles and the lies his mother had told him (you are perfect), screamed for the air oxygen could not grant as he laced his fingers together, knuckles white and pulse running through his digits. 

His vision swam and brain throbbed until the only sounds that his ears could pick up were his own murmured words of regret until his father joined in with vehement decelerations of antipathy towards Eren’s actions. Although, he felt that they were more so directed at his own personage. He looked mad, crying out with his hands outstretched, eyes trained on the ceiling as his tongue drew ugly words across the air that burned the swell of Eren’s trembling palms like a brand. A white-hot reminder that _Eren didn’t deserve forgiveness, was a disgrace, a scourge against The Lord’s creation, that he was a stupid boy, that Eren was sorry, remorseful, that Eren would never sin in such a manner again_. It was too much, everything was too much. Everything hurt, ached, throbbed. He wanted, _needed_ , it all to stop. _Please, please stop._

He didn’t realise that he had sobbed said words out loud until a glass shattered next to him, the shards dispersing, some grazing across his clothed skin. Crying out, he brought his hands up to his face, burrowing his head in the crook of his left shoulder. It hadn’t hurt, was more of a shock than anything, but knowing that his dad was capable-was willing-to hurt him if needs be was jarring. Bile bubbled in his throat and painted his calcium-rock, mango-slicked, dented teeth until the underside of his buttermilk tongue was coated, until it was pooling at his clavicles, until he was practically overflowing with the stuff. His mouth tasted like old chewing gum between his clenched jaw, reminded him of the hot, rubber handlebars of his bike that his father taught him to ride (it was chartreuse green), left rusting in the lemongrass by the highway. 

He’s lightheaded and his lungs are collapsing from the inside out and his soul is escaping through the cracks in his skin but he doesn't care ‘cause he had _sinned._

Grisha was chanting louder, now. He sounded frantic, voice growing in intensity, pupils blown wide and fingertips against his temples. With erratic movements, he made a cross sign over his chest and looked down at the boy on the floor. Eren couldn’t help but think that he looked crazed, possessed, even. Upon realising his mistake, he resumed his own grovelling, almost wondering whether he was apologising of his own accord or simply trying to sate his father. As much as it shamed him to admit it, he didn’t know. 

Comfort only arrived when the door opened. There stood Mikasa, looking almost as scared as Eren felt. But Mikasa was always brave, a pillar of strength and amenity; Eren let out a breath that he had been holding in for far too long as she stepped into the room, soon followed by Carla (who looked like a deer in headlights as she took in the scene before her). Mikasa rushed over to Eren, breathing out his name as Carla went to Grisha (“Honey, honey, please. You’re scaring the kids, please, calm down for a sec’, darling-“). His sister crouched down to his level, curling her slim fingers around his upper arm as he let his head loll into her shoulder, trying to ignore how tentative and uncomfortable she now seemed around him. Breathing in the scent of her red, woollen scarf (when did he give that to her? Her eleventh birthday? He remembered pouring hours into knitting it). He let his eyelashes brush against the swell of his cold cheeks, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Noticing that his father had fallen silent, he thanked his mother in his head. Carla had always had a way with words, could pacify the most vexed individuals. He wished that he could have a moment of silence, that he could curl up into a little ball right then and there, against Mikasa’s soft form, but was instead jolted from his daze as he was gently pushed back, the ravenette shuffling on her knees to scoop up the glass splinters, strewn across the floor. She was definitely avoiding his gaze, trying to occupy herself with other things so she didn’t have to be in close proximity to Eren. He knew that because Mikasa refused to tidy when asked to, instead choosing to lecture their father on the ethics of sexism and ask why he didn't make Eren fold the laundry for once. She was rather modern like that.

Carla soon rushed over to help, as sweet as she always was. Eren, once again, felt as if he was alone with his father, despite two other people being present in the room. Everyone was aware of the tension, yet everyone wanted to avoid it. Other than Grisha, that is. 

“Boy,” Eren craned his neck over his shoulder to look into his father's face. He didn’t seem calm, by any stretch of the imagination, but he wasn’t as incensed as he previously was- only looked like he would break Eren’s arm, as opposed to his neck. He jabbed his index finger at the wide-eyed brunette, “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to Father John and we’re going to get your- your _illness_ under control.” 

With that, he stalked out of the room and Eren finally allowed himself to slump over, arms and knees pressed against the cold floor tiles. Form shaking, he let silent sobs tear through this body. He was drained.

“Eren,” a soft voice filled his ear, _mother_ , and a hand was placed upon his arched spine, “We’ll see if we can help you, if there’s a cure. We just want you to be happy, okay?”

———

“I understand that this is a difficult time for you, for all of you, but it is not permanent, it can be fixed,” they (they being Eren, his father and mother) sat across from Father John. He gave them a kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he assured them that Eren wasn’t destined for Hell, that he could be cured. That he could be _normal._ They sat, listening with rapt attention, nodding along, Carla clutching Grisha’s hand with both of her own, “I know about many cases such as these, and I also know how taxing they can be on the family, so allow me to offer my condolences.”

They were sat in the room Eren frequented when he attended his Bible study sessions, a statue of Jesus Christ hung from the wall; he couldn't help but feel that it was burning holes into the back of his neck, even as Father John reassured them, even as he claimed to have known many ex-homosexuals that had been cured.

“I know of an institution, a treatment centre of sorts, they have an incredible track record. The large majority of homosexuals that have passed through their doors have come out, completely normal. I have heard many great things about the place, I could refer you to them if you would like?” it didn't seem like a question. He was expecting one answer and one answer only.

 _Conversion therapy,_ it was a word that Eren had seen, cropping up in newspaper headlines, but he had never thought to look into it, never thought that it could actually help him. But, oh, it sounded wonderful.

“C- could they cure my son?” Carla breathed out, looking up at Father John, eyes wide and alight with hope.

“I don’t have much doubt in my mind that they could.”

Carla let a weak smile settle upon her face, meeting Eren’s eyes (he was sitting to his fathers left), her own shining.

Eren finally let himself hope, let himself breathe.

_He could be cured._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i hate this chapter? hahahha yes
> 
> levi will be ~introduced~ in the next chapter,, that’s when the plot will actually kinda start


	3. Chapter 3

Eren unravels from the inside, ribs clawing at his sun-scorched guts, gnawed-down calcium bones and cotton balls clogging his splintered jugular. He shifts his tired frame and his paper skin breaks and melts and disintegrates and completely disappears until all that's left of him is a skeleton too fragile to hold the cries of a boy whose legacy is hidden under quilts, a boy who still remembers running home with bloodied knees to his parents after the kids would push him off the swings when he was six, the same parents who wouldn’t meet his gaze with anything other than pity or distaste; Eren crumbles.

He crumbles in the backseat of their family car, Mikasa sitting to his left and his mother and father to his front. It was silent and it was hot (stiflingly so, in both regards).

He sat and he stared out of the window, watching as buildings gradually became scarce, replaced by tufts of grass and clusterings of trees, instead. Eren didn't know where he was going exactly, had only been told that it was a recovery camp of sorts, that he’d be surrounded by other youths just like him. Everything that had happened since their conversation with Father John almost felt like a blur; they had returned home, Grisha had made some calls and they had slept. And now, here he was, sitting in a car with his family, his luggage (could he even call it luggage? It was more like a mix of clothes that he had stuffed inside a backpack upon being woken at an ungodly early hour) sitting, rather intentionally-in Eren’s humble opinion-between him and his sister. A physical barrier. A physical barrier of old t-shirts and odd socks. Eren snickered- snickered as the swell of his cheeks turned scarlet (he blushed when he laughed, which was something he bemoaned). Or maybe it was the sun that painted his face red. Either way, he was glowing, or rather, burning. Burning with shame or disbelief? Because he was disbelieving, still couldn't quite wrap his head around the situation he was thrust into. Everything had changed ever so suddenly. He hadn't even had the time to say goodbye (or anything, for that matter) to his friends, not that he knew what he would say, given the opportunity.

“Something funny?”

The brunette went rigid; his father had said very few things to him since he had arrived home, tearful and perturbed, most (if not all) of the explanations had been given by his mother, and even she seemed reserved, almost unwilling to talk to him.

“No, sorry,” Eren was usually a loud boy, not rude, by any means, just excitable. Almost like a puppy, Sasha had told him. Eager to please and entertain. But his current circumstances had quelled him, had made his disposition do a complete one-eighty. But that was almost the point of- _what was it called again?_ -conversion therapy, so maybe it was for the best.

Grisha grunted, Carla’s hand in his own, worn-leather steering wheel in tother. Eren let himself sink into the seat.

Head lolling against the window (damn, was it hot), he completely, unequivocally surrendered himself to the sun’s burning gaze, to its searching fingertips, begged-the voice in his head dripping with uninhibited carnality-it to rip him apart like bread, to melt his pliant bones and let his veins grow lax. Begged the sun to liquefy his goddamn brains as his honey-slicked fingertips brushed aside the perspiration blanketing his brow because he swore that he was still drenched in the colour of Aaron’s eyes, still had his sweet words tattooed right across his damp forehead like an ugly scar. He felt dirty-felt like a sinner.

_I am not magnificent and I want to grab that thing festering inside of me because it's everywhere I turn. It's in the shadows under my eyes, behind each room I walk into, it's the glint in every single persons' eyes that I have to see every damn day, it's pinned to my back, it's the tears on my bathroom floor, it's the sound of the water running, it's the thread that whittles my mauled, chewed-up fingers to bone. I want to grab that thing festering inside of me and I want to rip it right out of my face, out through my mouth. I want to keep it clenched in my cold fist and I want to crush it under the heel of my shoe until it's destroyed because I am not normal and I want to know that the thing inside of me is buried deep beneath this damned soil under that damned cherry blossom tree in the small patch of grass outside my kitchen window that I stare all too longingly at by the small glow of the oven and it's just devastating._

__

He sighed. 

__

Eren’s zephyr breaths collected on the glass, obscuring it further as he swore his guts were turning to mush inside his hollow stomach, as his heart, baked in Devil's blood and curtains, melted into his ribcage. Shifting, he peeled the backs of his slick knees from the leather seat for what felt like the hundredth time. _Why did it have to be so unbearably hot?_

__

The air, impregnated with peach skin and gloss, slipped, languidly, into the car as Carla rolled her window down, _“It’s rather muggy, isn't it?”_. At least someone seemed cheery. It did nothing to boost the overall morale, though. If anything, it worsened it. The sun seemed to beat down upon them with even more conviction now that its rays weren’t marred by glass. Eren felt like he was going to burn alive. Burn alive like marigold wrapped in newspaper would on a park bench in post meridiem August's heat. He flushed pink as his lips spilt spoiled milk, murmuring pleas for them to _please arrive soon, I don’t think I can take this anymore._

__

As their journey elongated, Eren’s apprehension only grew. He wondered if he’d lived his whole life behind piety and fake words up to this point, if he was even who he thought he was. The thought that he was somehow hiding such a secret his whole life from those he was closest to (even when he hadn't been aware of it himself), scared him. The guilt of it refused to leave his damn head. 

__

He wilted, ‘cause he lusted for the idea of loving someone. But not the sort of someone that he was supposed to love. Gritting his teeth, he chewed at the side of his thumb, irritating the already scabbed skin. The skin that was too thin to hold his bones and his lungs _and-_ and he felt so damn trapped and claustrophobic in this car, in this body and he wanted out. 

__

Thankfully, out came (for one of his wishes, at least) when they drove past a church. After hours (or what felt like hours, at least) of driving, seeing a familiar structure-or any structure, for that matter-was incredibly comforting. The repose was fleeting, however, when he saw the building stood next to it. It was, to put it lightly, rather depressing. Eren assumed that it was some sort of housing unit (they wouldn't make them sleep in the church or-even worse-outside, right?). If it was a housing unit, it didn't look very inviting. The walls were grey and the car park in front was almost empty. It looked like a large clinic or a very small, run-down hospital. The chain-link fence surrounding the immediate area around the building couldn’t be ignored, either. He had read some newspaper articles (and had heard about) certain homosexuals being dangerous and preying on young children, but they weren't all dangerous, _surely?_

__

As they drove through the open gate leading to the car park, he pulled the sleeves of his green jumper over his fists, wiped his fingers on the fabric of his shorts and toyed with the hem of his long socks. _This was it, they had arrived, he was going to change._

__

Upon feeling the engine still after backing up into a free space, he mumbled, “How long am I gonna be here for?” 

__

“The programme lasts for three months,” he realised, with a start, that the answer had come from Mikasa. Was he the only one who hadn’t been clued in beforehand? Instead of voicing his sudden, ugly realisation, he nodded, lips pursed and chest expanding to accommodate his sudden intake of air. Nerves alight with trepidation, he closed his left hand around the bag next to him and, with eyelashes kissing his cheeks (the colour of his eyes were too loud), grabbed the door handle with his right before pushing it open and stepping out when Grisha gave him the go-ahead. 

__

The tarmac felt claggy under his soles and hot air settled under his skin, between his fingers; he felt uncomfortable. Even so, he swung one bag strap onto his shoulder and kicked the door shut with the heel of his shoe, still looking towards the building. The door was grey (go figure) and he saw something he hadn’t noticed from afar: a sign. It read “Natural Relations, striving for purity and an everlasting relationship with God!”. He tore his eyes away from the garishly bright lettering when he heard the rest of the doors closing, followed by footsteps. Fingers awkwardly shifting the bag strap, he waited until Grisha was a few paces in front of him before beginning to follow himself, trying to remain as polite as possible. 

__

A mutual feeling seemed to hang in the air, yet Eren couldn't tell if it was necessarily positive or not. Maybe it was both, or neither. Either way, he steeled himself, unease only growing when his father opened the door and stepped in, Eren, Carla and Mikasa following. 

__

“Ah, welcome to Natural Relations! New patient?” a middle-aged woman was sat behind a low desk, brushing her blonde, styled hair behind her ear as she rolled a pen between her fingers. Grisha replied with a curt nod and motioned towards Eren. 

__

The room certainly looked like an average waiting room that you’d see in a clinic. The walls were white, the chairs stationed against the back wall were covered by (slightly worse for wear) blue cushions and a low table covered in pamphlets sat near the centre of the space. They walked over to the desk 

__

“I just need you to go over some paperwork, and then everything will be sorted,” she passed a clipboard to Grisha, who thanked her and went over to sit at one of the chairs and began leafing through the papers. Eren felt like he was being ignored, felt like he was having his life signed away right in front of him. _Well, he kinda was. For three months, at least_. Looking over at Mikasa, he felt a pang in his chest when he noticed that she was fidgeting with her scarf- a nervous habit of hers. Eren would miss her, would miss everyone. He could hardly imagine what he would do without the familiarity of his friends and family around him. But it was for the best. She must have felt him staring, for she looked up. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and her eyebrows were scrunched together; she looked as though she was going to cry. Eren desperately wanted to comfort her, but felt that he shouldn't. His unease was stated, somewhat, when Carla wrapped an around Mikasa’s shoulders, letting the girl lean into her side. Carla was as good as (or even better than) Eren when it came to picking up and being affected by others’ emotions. He must have gotten said trait from her- it definitely didn't come from his father. 

__

Grisha came back over with the-now signed-sheets and handed them to the woman. She looked through them, slowly nodding her head. 

__

“So, Eren Yeager, sixteen, no signs of false gender identification, here because of his homosexual tendencies?” she looked up, phrasing the statement as a question. Grisha hummed in confirmation and the woman turned her head to Eren, giving him a smile, “I know that you're probably quite nervous, but the staff here are wonderful and will get you back on track in no time,” he replied with a tight smile of his own. 

__

She stood up from her chair and walked around the counter to stand in front of them, “You’ll have to say your goodbyes now, we like to isolate the patient from their families as soon as possible. It helps them to adjust to our programme. I'll just be behind this door, come through when you're ready.” she left through a door opposite to the one they had entered, and the situation suddenly felt very, very real (if it hadn't already). 

__

He opened his mouth but couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he opted to bite the inside of his cheek and bring his arms around Carla and Mikasa in an awkward, loose hug (he didn't think his dad would appreciate being embraced). No-one moved for a moment, but his mum soon tightened her arms around him, followed by Mikasa. Wet eyes were pressed into both of his shoulders until he started to feel his own dampen. Chuckling lightly, he tried to lift their (and his own) moods. “I’ll be home soon, don't worry,” despite his best efforts, his voice sounded strangled and he couldn't prevent the small sob that escaped his throat. 

__

“Juh-just be good, please,” Carla breathed out, hands holding onto Eren’s elbow as she pulled away to look at his face, almost searchingly. Mikasa hummed in agreement and Eren promised that he would. 

__

Mikasa reached up to unwind the scarf around her neck and Eren bowed his head slightly as he realised what she was going to do. The warm wool that was wrapped around him tickled his chin slightly and he grinned at her, despite his tears and growing anguish. 

__

“You be okay too, ‘Kas. Don’t start any more fights. Your big brother won't be there to save you,” she snickered, obviously trying to distract herself from the true weight of the situation. 

__

“Shut up, you know you can’t fight for shit.” 

__

“Language,” Carla chided, although not actually angry. Mikasa rolled her eyes, playfully. 

__

Silence fell over them once again and Eren inhaled, intending to say more but was cut off by Grisha, who had been standing a few paces away from them. He looked awkward. 

__

“Best be going, Mikasa has school tomorrow,” Carla looked at him and nodded her head after a short pause. She let go of Eren and gently ushered Mikasa towards their father, who had made his way back over to the door. Eren watched with a heavy heart. The first one to leave was Grisha, who didn’t even cast a glance back at him. Mikasa and Carla, however, met his eyes one last time, mouthing “goodbye” and “I love you” respectively. And then they were gone too. 

__

Throwing his head back to blink his tears away, he cleared his throat and turned around to go through the door where the blonde woman was waiting. Feeling oddly detached, he pushed it open slowly and was met with a smiling face. _She seems happy_ , he thought, bitterly, before scolding himself. 

__

“You’re done? If you’ll just follow me, we’ll go through some rules and make sure you haven't brought anything we don't allow here,” she eyed Eren’s bag as though it had done something wrong. Nodding, he numbly followed her down a short corridor. It was painted a light shade of grey and seemed to be in a little worse condition than the lobby. They arrived at a room and he was ushered inside. A man was already there, sitting at a table; it seemed to be either a storage room or a very cluttered office. “This is Ronnie, one of our team leaders. I'll leave you with him.” 

__

She left and Eren couldn't help but note that the sound of the door closing felt rather final. 

__

“Eren,” he looked up, “Welcome, I'll just look through your stuff and explain our rules. If you’ll pass your bag over here.” he did as was asked of him. 

__

With the weight of his bag now gone, he rolled his shoulder and let his foot tap against the ground. The man-Ronnie-began to look through the clothes and necessities he had brought. 

__

“Here at Natural Relations, we prohibit any sort of same-sex imagery, sexual acts, photographs or letters from past conquests,” he pulled out each individual item of clothing (Even his undergarments, which made Eren blush), seemingly searching for something. Murmuring about certain pieces being too feminine, he dropped them into a basket by the edge of the desk. Eren felt slightly confused, _what was wrong with his clothes?_ Nevertheless, he waited until Ronnie straightened his back and closed the bag. 

__

“That scarf, hand it over, please” Eren gripped onto it, eyes widening. 

__

“Uh, it’s my sister’s, she gave it to me so I won't miss her,” he mumbled the last part, casting his eyes away. 

__

Ronnie’s eyes lit up, as though he had realised something, “We have a policy, no feminine items allowed. It’s all part of the process.” 

“Right,” Eren mumbled before unwrapping the scarf, still apprehensive. He handed it over and watched as it was thrown into the basket where a few of his shirts already lay. The man walked up to the hesitant brunette and gave his bag back to him. 

“I’ll show you to where you’ll be staying, now.” 

———

The rooms were very bare. There were eight beds in total, four against each wall (Eren assumed that there was a separate room for the girls). They all had a small chest of drawers pressed up against the footboards, but other than that, there was nothing else to occupy the space. _Well, it is a mental facility of sorts, so that makes sense,_ but where was everyone else? 

__

He started, slightly, when he felt his bag being tugged off his shoulder and placed onto the bed nearest the door on the left side of the room. 

__

“You can sort your belongings out later, but we’ll head to the church for now. Whenever a new patient arrives, we hold a group introduction, of sorts.” he gave him a smile that wasn't unkind. 

__

_Explains why it’s so deserted._

__

He followed Ronnie back out of the room and through the facility. Now that his head was somewhat cleared, he took note of his surroundings. The hallways were pretty short and the whole facility looked more like a refurbished group home than a hospital, which is what he had initially envisioned before he had arrived. They passed by a few doors that Eren hadn’t been through before. _Treatment rooms?_

__

After they arrived back at the lobby that Eren had first come through, Ronnie stretched his hand out over the counter to grab a key that was resting in a small tray of other knick-knacks. He smiled at the receptionist, she didn't smile back. _Ouch_. The man, seemingly unfazed, threw a little wink Eren’s way and motioned for him to walk out of the-now open-door and into the car park. He couldn't stop himself from scanning the area to look for a certain car, nor could he stop the ache in his chest when he didn't see it. Suddenly, he came to the realisation that he was very, very alone. 

__

Trying to keep the mounting fear at bay, Eren followed Ronnie until they came to the chain-link fence, which he closed and locked after they passed through it. So that’s what the key was for. 

__

The church was close, hardly a two-minute walk away, and was small. Much smaller than the one Eren had attended back home, but its size made sense, seeing as they were in such a rural area. There had been a few houses and quaint shops here and there, but nothing like Eren’s town, which wasn't even that big to begin with- it was certainly nothing like the cities that he had heard so much about. They once had a student in school who had moved from one. His accent was rather odd and he was quite rowdy, but was nice enough and had lots of stories to share about city life. Eren thought that it had sounded wonderful, a far cry from the small communities and neighbourhood gossip that he was so used to. 

__

Ronnie knocked on the door of the church before opening it. Eren thought it a bit odd-even rude-that he would knock and not even wait for someone to open it, _maybe people are a tad different here,_ he reasoned. 

__

The space was small (as was to be expected) and the usual church benches had been pushed to the sides of the room, instead replaced by a ring of foldable chairs. And on top of said foldable chairs were teenagers, _teenagers just like me_. The thought rendered him slightly breathless, for he had never met someone like him- other than Aaron, of course. 

__

“Eren! We’ve been expecting you. Come, take a seat,” an enthusiastic man sitting at the head of the circle ushered him forwards, a grin splitting his face. Everyone here sure seemed happy. 

__

He looked back at Ronnie, who nodded at him, still standing at the door himself. Eren assumed that he would probably take his leave and head back to the facility. His assumption was proven correct when the man made off and he was left by himself, growing nervous under the eyes belonging to a cluster of young strangers, some looking at him kindly, others not so much. He walked towards the group and gingerly sat upon the empty chair that must've been set out for him. 

__

“So, Eren, welcome to Natural Relations, we’re glad to have you. Please, feel free to stand up and state your name, age and why you’re here, the others will do the same,” the man was still smiling at him, which did nothing to calm his nerves. Gosh, why did they have to do self-introductions, he was already overwhelmed. 

__

Nevertheless, he complied, standing up on unsteady legs, “Uh- I’m Eren, Eren Yeager. I’m sixteen and I'm here because of my...” he paused, momentarily, not knowing how to phrase his next statement. Racking his brain for ideas, he remembered what the woman at the reception had said about him when reading the papers his father had filled out, “homosexual tendencies.” 

__

Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, he sat back down, hoping that he hadn’t made a mistake. A chorus of “welcome Eren” and “thank you for sharing” filled his ears. It confused him a bit, but he didn't think much of it, waiting for others to make their introductions. 

__

A pretty black girl sitting to his left was the first to speak, “Tammy, seventeen, I’m here ‘cause my mum thinks there’s something wrong with liking girls,” her arms were crossed and her tone clipped. Eren noted that she seemed rather irritated. He tried to keep his eyes on the person speaking, wanting to seem attentive and polite despite his ever-present nerves. He wished to make a good first impression. Tammy didn't get the words of welcome or thanks, which made sense, seeing as she was probably not a new resident. 

__

“We’ll have to work on your attitude, Tammy. You can sit,” 

__

The rest of the introductions were along the same lines as Tammy’s, (“Ymir, sixteen, I’m a lesbian.”, “Historia Reiss, seventeen. And, uh, my mum caught me kissing a girl.”, “Thomas Fairs, seventeen, I sucked dick.” etcetera, etcetera). Most people had similar reasons (but vastly different ways of stating them- some were rather crude) and Eren even learned some new terms that he hadn’t been exposed to before. But all were like him, until it came time for a blonde boy to speak. He had wide, blue eyes and pale skin. He was ever so flushed. 

__

“A-Armin Arlert. I’m fifteen and I’m here because of my false gender identification,” _false gender identification? Whatever was that?_ The boy’s voice was delicate and airy; he certainly seemed rather feminine. 

__

Next was another blond boy. However, this one couldn't have looked more different than the prior. He was tall-startlingly so-and looked very put together. His hair was styled and his arms looked strong under his shirt. Eren couldn't help but stare. 

__

“Erwin Smith, seventeen, homosexual,” his voice certainly suited him. It was deep and slightly intimidating. His introduction was followed by the sound of a tongue clicking as the boy to his left stood up, eyes rolling. He looked exasperated. 

__

“Names Jean Kirschtien, I’m also seventeen and I’m also homosexual,” Eren couldn’t help but assume that there was some history between them, seeing as the wiry brunet seemed to be mocking the taller, in a sense. _Oh! Were they…?_ He glanced at the floor, slightly shocked and not wanting to appear as though he was staring too intently. He was dragged from his sudden pondering when another voice filled his ears, however. And, oh, if the cadence of Erwin’s voice made him glow, this one must’ve completely set his face alight! It sounded… smooth, husky, even. 

__

“Levi Ackerman. I’m seventeen and I’m here ‘cause of my same-sex attraction,” 

__

Eren’s eyes darted to the boy’s face. _Oh, Lord._

__

He was on the shorter side, his skin was pale and dotted with acne scaring and the black undercut he sported seemed to match the rings under his eyes perfectly. And, _oh_ , his eyes. They were light grey-almost blue-and were startlingly piercing. The boy- _Levi_ \- looked rather miffed and stood in quite the defensive stance. His appearance was a far cry from (almost a complete dichotomy of) Aaron’s, yet Eren couldn't do much to quell his sudden, unwanted, flourishing attraction. He averted his gaze, hoping that it would help, somewhat (it didn't). 

__

“Well, now that we’re all acquainted, how about we head back to our rooms, seeing as it’s getting rather late. But before that, join me in prayer.” 

__

For the first time in recent memory, Eren didn't enthusiastically bring his hands up to clasp over his chest when asked to pray. Instead, his head was clouded by another thought. Or, to be specific, the image of a certain boy with a gaze too dark for Eren’s heart to handle. 

__

_Oh, no. He wasn’t off to a good start._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aand we have plot!
> 
> jean doesn't have his two-toned hair in this (yet).
> 
> i'm pretty sure that i'll always feel like my writing is rushed, so i'll just shut up about it at this point pfft.
> 
> didn't mean to make that last line (and the horrible description of levi) come across as humorous or awkward, but i am really bad at describing people and writing the beginning and ending of a chapter (writing the beginning is especially painful) so i gave up.


End file.
